


Soul & Swords

by letlxvhoney



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: ;;; idfk how to tag im sorry, ?? its like??, Blood, Description Heavyy, Gothic, Halloween, Kinky, M/M, Magic, Power Dynamics, Rivals, Spooky bingo, Supernatural Elements, Swordfighting, Swords, castle - Freeform, changki, changki rise, its weird idk i learned a lot about myself here, pain pleasure kinda thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 02:36:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letlxvhoney/pseuds/letlxvhoney
Summary: Where Changkyun's one mistake leads him on a path to turn back time, but his future is painted Red.A story of princes, abandoned castles and prophecies, and a whole bunch of sword fighting.





	Soul & Swords

**Author's Note:**

> uwu first post in Spooky Bingo, even though im MAJORLY behind schedule, but at least it's something ;; For the Gothic Castles prompt~
> 
> There's blood!! but no gore? not really. it's not super violent either,,, just weird ok, forgive me, I was working with it on a whim.

This was not the situation Changkyun thought he’d find himself in when he stepped through the Witch’s hut, greed and fear running through his blood. He went in there, mind set on success, with his trust, wrongfully so, at full disposal of the Witch. She played him like a fiddle, she did. Let him think that he was going to get freedom for his Kingdom by just a spell and a few gold coins tossed her way. And Changkyun, desperate as he was, didn’t bat an eye at the cunning glint in her eye, or the way her lips curled up into an unpleasant smile, her eyes barely there.

So Prince Changkyun went in there, on a cool Monday afternoon, expecting help, guidance of sorts, mostly just cheating his way through with magic, and left sure of success, a weight off his shoulders and a much too careless attitude. Because he expected the war to fly by with him not needing to do anything. So when on a Wednesday evening the riots and clanging of swords shatters throughout the castle and nears closer to the Prince’s chambers, uneasiness fills his stomach. His heart drops and he’s rushed out by the side tunnel, his guards staying back to hold off the Wild Wolves. 

That’s how quick it happens. Changkyun can’t even spare a second of thought, his guards acting out on impulse to protect him, and he’s left alone as they push the heavy wardrobe back into place over the tunnel entrance, his heart beating much too heavily and not at all. His mind misfires multiple times, like his thoughts are sparks, barely coherent sentences, another starting before one finishes, and they’re all spilling out at once. His chest tightens, hollows when he hears a screech, panic settles in, flight mode takes control, and his back hits hard against the cold rocks when he steps further into the darkness and down the tunnel.

Changkyun feels his way through as all that he can see is darkness and shades of grey, his hands on the rocks. The sound of sharp steel and the snarling of the Wild Wolves echoes through, fills the cracks between the stones and seeps right into Changkyun’s core, a shiver rolling down his skin and raising every hair, causes tears to prick at the corners of his eyes. His head is filled with ringing, he can barely make out the coolness of the stone beneath his fingers and confusion runs through his mind, over and over.

Because this was not how it should have ended. This was exactly what he wanted to prevent. He was told the prophecy could be turned, and naive him believed the empty words, he believed and clung onto any hope. He should have re-evaluated his options, readied his guards and men properly for the onslaught, but he fell into security much too easily. 

Changkyun notices the bars of the tunnel have been broken down, most likely in a haste by his guards, after they realised the Prince’s trip to the Witch secured no future for them except certain death. Annabelle was waiting at the end of the tunnel, reigns loose and free, kicking at the ground. His guards didn’t spare a second to even tie her down and in that moment Changkyun was thankful for her faithfulness, being the smart animal that she was.  
He let her take over the journey, lead him out into the woods behind his castle, dense and thick with bushes and trees, and she didn’t take a second of hesitation to gallop through. 

Changkyun thinks about the guards that had abandoned him and he doesn’t blame them for running. He was so fucking stupid to fall for the Witch’s words, so easily, he saw it as the only answer. And yet … 

His heart still on a high from the escape, he curls further into himself, holding onto the horse, and steals a glance behind him, one last look at the Kingdom he failed to uphold. But the dense forest was crude, and any signs of the castle were already hidden far behind multiple layers of trees and bushes. There’s a pang in Changkyun’s heart, a realisation that he may never see the walls of his castle again. He will never look at his guard’s faces, never see Wonho’s soft reassuring smile. Wonho, who took the front line on the defence, Changkyun reassuring him one last time before he left that yes, he’s “sure the witch fulfilled her task, there’s no need to fret or fear.”

Changkyun curses at himself, hands clutching at the reins even tighter, knuckles baring white and the skin in between a fading purple from the cold. He’s beginning to shake as his breathing becomes more unstable and memories flash in his mind of the peace before the Wolves, the guilt and anxiety settling in.

ღ 

Changkyun’s only resolve was Shownu. Not a mage or a sorcerer, but a man filled with an abundance of knowledge. A man of peaceful nature, an anchor of support and one that consumes wisdom at an unfathomable pace. His curiosity for everything and anything had led him to delve into the pages filled with spells and stories of witches, accounts and retellings of magic, and it resulted in his deepened understanding of witchcraft and sorcery, despite not being of magical blood. One who vaguely warned Changkyun of the consequences of dealing with a Witch, and as misfortune would have it, in Changkyun’s dire time, Shownu had left on an escapade somewhere down South, over multiple countries and borders, in search of another one of his special trinkets.

He’d come back to a broken down Changkyun - he’d managed to pick the lock, thanks to the amount of forbidden doors in the castle that piqued his interest - and was quick to guest him with warm tea and a fire to fill out the cold of his hut, despite being completely taken by surprise, not having been in contact for a longer while. Changkyun said he’d only been in the hut a day or so, lucky for him that Shownu’s journey ended quickly, or he would have most likely found Changkyun dead from despair, sprawled on the floor of his living room. 

It wasn’t often that the two could meet, Shownu’s place far out in the woods, away from the busyness of village life, and Prince Changkyun had the Castle Equery to guide him through his tasks. It was a treat if Changkyun could spare time to travel out to Shownu, to see the old friend from the castle, but those moments withered and lessened as Changkyun’s duties grew, until their interactions came to chance meetings once a year. 

So Changkyun had spilled tears, explained the story of his stupidity and the pain of his loss, and Shownu listened. Attentive, quiet, words of reassurance here and there. The treatment that Changkyun desperately needed; the warmth from someone that he knows, someone that’s not… well, gone. There’s silence for a longer while, as Shownu traces the rim of his tea cup with his finger, lost in thought over the words that Changkyun emptied out of himself.  
He can feel the tears stream out of his eyes, all the tension of his emotions, swirling from anger to self-hatred and to the harrowing understanding of death at his hands. Changkyun’s almost wiped down the tears from his face, the grip of guilt still twisting his heart, because now saying all those words out loud, the pain hit even harder. Then Shownu’s voice breaks through the small room.

“There is something that could be done,” long pauses between the words, Shownu still contemplating whether he should speak or not. He understands the severity of Prince Changkyun’s situation, but the cost of this may be even greater. Changkyun looks dumbfounded, eyes wide, rimmed with red from the constant crying but he can’t seem to find the words, that small sliver of hope causing his throat to tighten. 

“I will do anything to turn back,” he chokes out, voice small, but stern despite the shakiness. He clears his throat and stares back at Shownu who notices a shift in the youngers’ posture. A shift in Changkyun.

“Please.”

ღ 

Shownu had brought out the leather bound book, a worn brown colour, some areas much brighter and scathed from the sun, others burned black and ripped slightly. And he turns the pages, the front cover significantly heavy, and mumbles under his breath as he searches over the spells and summonings, all written out in a language Changkyun cannot read.  
Shownu went on a search through all the books he has lined up through the house. Bookcases lined most walls of the living room. Shelves stacked high above the fireplace. Books lined each window sill, some even in a neat pile on the floor. An abundance of knowledge is what Shownu’s little hut was. Filled with questions and answers, and really, anything in between.

Shownu inhales sharply, and it cuts through Changkyun’s train of thoughts, his eyes brimming with hope, wide and child-like.

“Prince Changkyun…” Shownu’s face grows softer, his shoulders relaxing down, but it doesn’t put Changkyun any more at ease because that tone of voice means no good news. 

“I need to do it,” Changkyun protests, even before Shownu manages to say anything more, “I need to go back, I-- I need to bring-- bring them back.” His voice cracks, it takes longer for the words to come out and Changkyun wants to curse at himself. The realisation of loss strikes again, and it fogg’s Changkyun’s mind as pain is the only thing he can comprehend.

“There’s not much more you can lose,” Shownu states amongst the silence, his voice hushed, like he’s being careful not to shatter Changkyun’s fragile character.

“It’s more,” Shownu takes another long pause, deciding on the words to use, “It’s more the task of preparing,” He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and reaches over for a loose piece of paper, dips his quil in the ink and begins jotting down the contents of the book. Preparing? 

“You’ll need to collect these, and I won’t be able to come with you. I wouldn’t be of much help either, but I already have an expedition elsewhere that I cannot move,” Shownu finishes writing, underlines some things and places the quil back in its holder, sliding the paper to Changkyun. He scans over the sheet. Picks out ‘Ring, Skull and… Soul?’, all underlined, and each one with a separate smaller note underneath. 

“I think,” Shownu starts, places the red leather bookmark into the center, and closes the heavy leather-bound book, “I know where you can get each of these. I’ve heard stories and I’ve done research into it. Though not for this particular spell.” Shownu stares at Changkyun, “but it won’t be easy, that… I’m sure of.” He trails off the end of his sentence, and sees Changkyun’s shoulders square up, his spine straightening out. 

“I will do it. I have to. I have to do it.”

And with that, they sat through the night discussing locations, conjuring plans and back ups.

ღ 

Changkyun breathes into his cupped hands, a poor attempt at warming them up in the night-time frost that bites at his fingers and nips at his ears. 

It’s grey. Everything and everywhere, is grey. The sky’s dark and heavy, with clouds stretching endlessly in all directions and it covers the barren land in darkness. The halo of the sun beyond the horizon can be seen to start forming, but Changkyun’s eyes have already become accustomed to the dark, he’s already able to make out the outlines of trees and rolling hills, and his eyes lull for a little longer on a larger silhouette, a mile or so, out in the distance. 

The sharp peaks cut against the sky, and where the clouds were dark, the castle ahead seems to seep in all light, like a black hole on earth. It raises slightly amongst the surrounding land, and the black spills further to the sides, the shapes softer, rustling and dancing in the wind. A fortress of trees protecting a grand and ancient castle, heavy with tales of ghosts and shapeless sounds, and ruins toppled over each other.

It’s what Changkyun has heard at least, and by now his suspicions of anything have risen far above the standard. He’s not going to take any more risks. He had already cut it close escaping the caverns with the Ring and the task of collecting the Skull was no less than gruesome, he was prepared for anything coming his way. He snorted at the thought. It’s what he’d like to believe, of course. He’s come to a bitter-sweet relationship with the term Prince when referring to himself, a case of not deserving the title for the destruction he had brought onto his Kingdom through carelessness, but also a small sliver of hope that he could undo the done, redeem himself. Rightfully wear the crown once again, and rise his kingdom from the ashes. Ambitious he is. But he really hasn’t got much more to lose. 

He rides the rest of the way steadily, his horse already tired from travelling through the whole night and it’s not like Changkyun is any better. He trusts Anabelle enough to lead him along the path as he doses off a few times, the wind of the night and dark shadows easing him into sleep.

Changkyun digs his heels gently into the horse, pulling back on her reins to slow her down before the heavy metal gate, most of it obscured by thick red roses, close to wilting, with a few petals already decorating the ground. It’s ajar, a thick chain wrapped loosely between the bars, and Changkyun notices that the space between the gates is definitely large enough for him to pass through, the chain not really doing much work of securing the gates shut. 

Behind there’s not much he can make out. It’s instantly overgrown bushes, what used to be clean cut gardens of shapes and figures, is now chaos of dwindling flowers intertwined with dry bramble. Large oak trees shade over more areas of the garden, and there’s a hard time distinguishing between the edge of the castle walls and the beginning of the woods spilling out from the sides. Further out in the distance, the black peaks still cut against the sky, details now coming into view with the sky shifting to a lighter grey - a sign the sun is slowly rising - and there’s a doom that falls on Changkyun’s shoulders as he stares out onto the castle grounds. He wants this over and done with, and there is something haunting in the sun. He steals one last look at the red roses. The bushes and trees surrounding him wallow and sway in a soundless song Changkyun cannot fully makeout, except for the soft rustles and a distant hum.

It’s only once Changkyun nears closer to the gates, he’d secured Anabelle to a tree further down the path, that he’s suffocated by the intense smell of roses. It’s sweet and much too strong, and it wraps around Changkyun’s figure, into his throat and fills his lungs. He needs to cover his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, hoping the smell doesn’t pass through because this… this fragrance of wild flowers burning on a summers day is not natural, definitely not in the middle of November. It’s enchanted. It’s a big stop sign, screaming to turn back, painted in red roses. 

And Changkyun ignores it because there’s no other choice he has. There’s no second guessing or double-takes when with each waking hour he’s filled with more despair and longing. He’s already made it so far, he has the ring on a chain round his neck, the silver now burning with the heat of his skin, and the skull was already brought back to Shownu. It’s just this one item left. It’s only… it’s only a soul.

It’s only one lonesome soul.

ღ 

Changkyun’s made his way through the wild garden, slithering through the openings between the mostly withered growth, moving some bushes and branches out of his way. He had noticed, however, a significant amount of greenery still fighting out amongst the brown tones dominating the gardens. Still a living force persevering through this cemetery of dead flowers and parched bushes, and it should be reassuring of sorts. But it just unsettles Changkyun more. In the middle of November, greenery blooming amongst the dead? It’s another sign of Witchcraft that tightens Changkyun’s breathing and sends piercing doubt into his heart. 

He’s had to make his way around the main entrance, for the large oak tree that had fallen through the grand doors has spread its branches into each and every crevice, with bushes and shrubbery having nestled itself in between. It built a wall, another sign to turn back and leave this god forbidden property, but Changkyun was not about to turn away and let fear consume him. He’d noticed a small break further down the lane of foliage, an opening beneath the bushes, and he made his way through, and landing next to a wall of black stone rising high towards the sky. On the higher levels, the wall has caved in and out, bricks have fallen down, and ivy had sprung, most of the wall lost beneath the greenery. Whether the destruction had been caused by nature, or due to the time that has passed, Changkyun could see other areas of the wall have been destroyed, letting glimpses of the inside be seen, but only vaguely. It has clearly been a long while since that last time a living being has stepped foot in these areas. The grass is tall, everything is overgrown, and any passageways that could lead inside have been long since covered up the thorny branches and dry leaves.

But Changkyun knows he’s closer. The side of the castle is more lenient in its passageway, withered bushes of rhododendron line the garden to the side and the poor offshoots do not quite reach the wall. Changkyun could make his way along the castle with ease, the grass and weeds being of little hindrance. Now it was just down to finding a break in the wall. A window or a door would do well obviously, but it’s unlikely there’d be a side entrance, unless it was further down. Changkyun can already make out another large tree that has collapsed on itself and into the castle, buried beneath more shrubbery and covered in moss. He nears closer to it, grass high at hip level, but his high boots and sturdy trousers manage to give at least some protection. He hadn’t intentionally gotten rid of his armour but the fight in the caverns had resulted in the main breastplate falling apart and most of the rest followed in suit. His left shoulder still has the armour plate, and it extends slightly further, almost down to his elbow. Luckily it’s secured with leather belts across his chest, over the not-so-white blouse, and works as some sort of protection that Changkyun can rely on. He knows it’s not a lot, but it gives him some comfort, some way of shielding himself, protecting whatever is left of him. 

Changkyun notices the slight opening in the dried branches, ivy intertwining itself in between and only once he is standing next to the large fallen bark, he notices the inside of the castle, mostly admiring the second floor on full display. Architecture heavy in repetitive pattern and detailed design with grand stone arches supporting the remnants of the ceiling, all in the signature black stone, though a large portion is toned a dull grey from the decay. The abundance of multiple types of ivy crawls out of cracks and spills over any surface that would allow it. It has cascaded over the structure of the floor, caused a curtain to fall upon areas of the second floor, and spilled further into the dead branches of the tree lying beneath. A wonderful sight to see, the green of enchanted nature, writhing with life, against the faded dim brown of the bark, and all of this amongst beautiful man made architecture, amongst intricate carvings and meticulously planned structures. It lights a fire in Changkyun. A sort of longing and needing brought on by imagining his kingdom falling into such wondrous despair if he was to let fate roll as it has. He cannot. He will not let it happen.  
With a hasty breath and greater desperation, Changkyun makes his way over the rubble and the black stone at his feet, onto the old tree, and searches for a way in. 

ღ 

He’s made his way through the castle, the decaying structures of the floor giving way under his feet, and he’s had to tread carefully through the corridors. Corridors lined with high brick arches, accented by fine details from stone, and still, as outside, moss and ivy decorated each fissure, each break in the wall. Large statues of marble and stone loomed over Changkyun, their figures and silhouettes distorted as pieces have crumbled apart and fallen to the floor. Changkyun didn’t know what he was looking for, and the windows and cracks began to let the dimmed rays of the rising sun highlight the scarred and pitted stone walls. The light wasn’t sharp, diffused by the clouds still hovering in the sky, and it only worked itself to the macabre atmosphere of the castle and its grounds. He’d looked into some of the rooms, most doors already fallen apart with the wood chipped away, but he didn’t find much. Century old furniture, barely lasting, battered by the changing weather and buried beneath a deluge of green and brown leaves. It was when he heard the faint humming, somewhere far in the distance, that his heart jumped to his throat, and a burning spread through his body while a cold shiver raced down his spine. He knew that’s where he had to go, towards the sound that flowed throughout the halls and turned the atmosphere colder than it already was. 

So when Changkyun had crossed the boundary into the large hall, the ceiling as high as three floors, a hole in the centre allowing for a glimpse of the grey sky, he stopped dead in his tracks as the humming of a melodious voice grew instantly louder. He cowered, fear striking his heart, twisting round his limbs, and he dipped down behind a low wall, built out from the column and towards the walls of the hall. He almost tripped over the debris, a mixture of bricks and black stone, and his shoulder hit hard against the wall as he tried to stable himself, his breathing heavy and unstable.

It’s how Changkyun finds himself now, heart pounding against his ribcage, his head heavy with the thudding and filled with a haunting melody, sourceless and shapeless, a vague hum. It fills the cracks of the bricks, it hugs and slithers against the smooth rocks, and it hangs in the air. Constant. Unnerving. Dreadful. Yet at the same time, Changkyun cannot deny how enticing it is, the low tones a gentle touch ghosting over the skin while the high notes send waves of chills across his back and pinch at his heart. Changkyun melts into it.  
Just for a second, he loses himself in the high falsetto, gets lost in the sound enveloping him over his shoulders and grasping at his chest. But just or a second. He jerks back, his back hitting hard against the rocks, a sharp exhale, and the humming stops. 

And everything stops with it, save for Changkyun’s heart still thudding like a war drum behind his ears. The air grows dense, heavier, or it feels so anyway when Changkyun’s attempt to inhale seems a lot more strained, and the oxygen barely fills his lungs. He tries to pace his beating heart, breathing shakily, not enough oxygen for a full breath, and his eyes wander over the ruins at his feet. A strong column that must’ve held up the second floor balcony, splays in front of him and reaches further into the grand hall, ivy and moss decorating the crevices, and permeating further the cracked floor tiles beneath it. It leads his eyes towards the centre back of the hall, to the grand stairs that must’ve shone with polished black marble in its prime time and remnants of gold lining on the bannister now covered with decades worth of dust and dirt. And at the landing, a grandiose window, with peaks reminiscent of the silhouette of the castle, that glide tall and strong to the high of the ceiling. It’s mostly covered by ivy, snaking its way down the whole stretch, decorating each window panel with thick green leaves, the one sign of life that puts Changkyun on edge. 

The humming begins again, it starts off slow, a little wavering and distant, until it fills Changkyun’s ears. And then a step. Hollow but it paralyses him in place. Because the voice was shapeless before; he feared it less when he classed it as just a figment of his imagination or an effect of that enchanting smell of roses that perhaps got into his bloodstream. But a step, light and slow? That’s a shape to the voice, and Changkyun realises it’s the soul. It’s what he came here to get, what he needs and what he won’t leave without.

So he inhales, fills his lungs with oxygen; they’re full, finally, and he listens to another step fall somewhere at the other end of the hall. He pushes himself forward, off of the cool of the stone, fingers grazing against some of the moss that’s wet with morning dew, and reaches his hand over his neck and to his back, just over the loose neck of his collar. It rides down further than other shirts, just so that the hilt of the sword can be seen to decorate his flesh, and the wild array of roses that travel behind it and up to his nape look like a blossoming bouquet.

“Acacius,” His deep voice hushed, the name falls from his lips, the sounds hissing lightly. A cloud of white and grey smoke spreads around Changkyun’s back and under his palm, the cool leather of the hilt starts to form, and the metal guard nestles itself into the top of his hand, the weight growing. He draws the sword out and over his head, the rest of the blade assembling itself out of thin air, leaving a trail of white smoke dragging the tip. Changkyun bring the sword to his front, feeling the comfort in the handle and eyeing the beauty of the blade. It shines in the dim light of dawn, the engraving of thorns and roses slithering its way up to the tip, glistening at each sharp cut that forms in the steel. Changkyun feels a weight off his shoulders, a comfort that the blade always brings because it’s like an old friend.They understand each other, they work together and Changkyun feels safer. 

Then another step falls, more filling, less empty, and the sound ripples through the room, causes Changkyun to hiss in another breath as his grip tightens on the leather, the sword now heavy with its full weight in Changkyun’s hand. The humming grows and small lulls break up long notes and leave them hanging in the air for a while longer even after the voice has stopped, but Changkyun tightens his grip, exhales sharply and --

He pauses, because why wouldn’t he. He lives on hesitation, and the dread that this whole scene fills him with is like none other. He almost lets his thoughts run, second guessing this whole process, second guessing falling into another spell, trying to turn back time-- everything spills in his mind in that split-second of hesitation, but he forces his body to move, to push off of the tiled floor, even if his brain is still a step behind. 

Red. That’s all that Changkyun can register at first when his step falters, everything in his body going haywire, like electricity has shot right through him and he nearly lets the sword slip. He’s barely made it to the centre off the grand hall before he’s locked in place, his feet like concrete, and his eyes fixated on the scene unfolding in front of him.

Red. It’s like a magnet, enticing and teasing Changkyun as his head empties out any thoughts he had. All that he can focus on is the blood red of a silk gown hugging gently a smooth white figure and the mist of black night with shimmers falling over itself and hovering at his feet. His, because Changkyun can see the sharp features of the jaw, cutting a shadow onto the neck, despite the lack of clear light, and it dries up Changkyun’s mouth. He can see the shoulders, though smaller than his and looking delicate like porcelain, they’re broad and carry an air of royalty to the them, pulled back with his collar bones a dark cut against the light skin. And it’s the opening of that smooth red silk gown that perfectly guides Changkyun’s eyes from the shoulders to his chest, puffed out and even more prominent by the arms crossed underneath it, and the crimson of the gown hugs tight to the skin in some areas, and leaves just a space of a breath between the skin in others. Changkyun’s eyes slide along the seams of the gown that guide over the man's body, and his breath hitches in his throat when he reaches the arms, realising that the material never crosses over. It stays open, lets the long strip of pure white skin of the chest fade under the skin of his arms, and the long satin sleeves fall down from the elbows. And it’s sharp. The cut from skin to skin leaves a dark harsh shadow, and it doesn’t get much softer with the blood-toned material spilling from under the arms, now seemingly all one, and resting loosely on the hips. The material shines and shimmers gently from the faded light, each sway of the figure resulting in a ripple in the silk as it glides, with light touches, over the skin, and the multiple folds that cascade down toward the black mist, let tones of wine red fall into the shadows.  
Changkyun is in a complete and utter daze and his heart is pounding behind his ribcage, threatening to actually break his bones this time because holy shit, this was not the sight he thought he would see.

“Ah,” the man's head tips back lightly, all features sharp and angular with his jaw on full display, and Changkyun is shaken back to reality, empty blinks matching his empty head and all he can do is stare back. The man’s mouth opens, but there’s a lull. A slow smirk plays at the corners of his lips, and he blinks leisurely, eyes piercing through his lashes. 

“The Prince,” his voice like bitter-sweet honey and the last half of the word fades out into the hall, caught up by the black mist still heavy at his feet. He cocks his head to the side, one shoulder rising to meet his cheek, and the red silk rolls over it, pure skin on further full display, the pure white a contrast against the blood-toned silk. His eyes blink heavily, fixated only on Changkyun’s and Changkyun realises he still can’t find his voice. 

“You finally came,” the man continues, voice soft as velvet, the statement almost a question, and the sound travels like a wave with another tip of his head to the other side. His shoulder falls back down and the sleeve of the gown finds its place even further down the arm, and teases his whole chest a reveal, but Changkyun’s eyes wander back to his collarbone, prominent and sharp, yet looking like smoothed stone. This time, Changkyun can’t find his breath.

Everything is slow. The way the man’s tongue glides over his bottom lip, trapped between his teeth, and the way his head rolls back, his neck once again becomes the sole centrepiece that Changkyun can wrap his fizzled brain round. How each move is filled with grace and poise and yet everything is sharp, contoured and dangerous. How the red silk simply hovers over the grace figure, and Changkyun’s eyes catch all the details again. The shine of the silk falls against the milky skin, skin decorated with specks of moles; over his chest, down the revealed arm and up on his neck. And Changkyun can make out a few on his face, one at the corner of soft lips. They’re not red like the silk, but plush and light, and falling much more to the warm tones of pink. Two more moles decorate his cheek and fall under his eye, and Changkyun’s throat tightens when he meets the piercing gaze. 

Eyes that are almost black, jarring against the white skin, and accentuated with specks of golden brown that twist and circle the iris. And they match the hair, a dark muted brown, casting shadows as strands fall over the forehead and into his eyes. 

Changkyun swallows heavily. The words said finally sink into him, and his brows knit in confusion. The questions unload in his head. Who is he? How does he know him? Has he been waiting? Why was he expecting him? When - and it’s endless. Changkyun questions every single thing he can in the space of a few seconds, before he realises the weight of the sword in his hand, and lifts it up, tipping the end towards the man’s neck. It looks like so at Changkyun’s angle at least, and his hand finds it hard to stay steady, to hold up the sword, its white glistening edge matching the skin of the figure ahead, almost blending into one. The man cocks an eyebrow, halting all movement and Changkyun breathes deep.

“I don’t know,” already short of oxygen, he inhales again, and notices the smirk fall from the man’s lips, “who you are, or how you know my name, but you seem to match the description of what I need,” Changkyun’s voice falters, it almost breaks at some points, but it stays deep and raspy, and he finds some comfort in that. That perhaps he doesn’t look as frightened as he is, and the drumming of his heart can’t be heard. He pauses before finishing, “...and I will get it.”

The man doesn’t break eye contact, but Changkyun can see the muscles in his face tighten, his jaw squaring and all features sharp. The black mist rolls down the stairs even before the man makes a move, and it seems imposing, threatening, angry, a complete contrast to the soft curls of the black smoke that fold in on themselves, and curl out onto the ground and into the air. 

The man drops his hands, the red silk falling down the arms, just short of the wrist, and Changkyun takes in the whole figure before him. The man, adorned in red, with pale skin striking against the black of the stones, watches Changkyun through heavy eyelids, his head still tipped back slightly, a sense of supremacy falling on his emotionless face. Changkyun’s breaths cut short again, that all too familiar twist in his stomach is back as the corners of the man’s lips tip upwards, only just, and he cocks a faint eyebrow at Changkyun. “I see,” his voice calm, but it cuts sharper than before. It doesn’t spill like gold along the marble steps. Instead it slices through the air, hovers around Changkyun’s ear, before settling in a shiver, and it leaves Changkyun gripping his sword tighter. He’s had enough now. 

The man’s gaze finally leaves Changkyun, it falls to the floor at his feet and then fixates on the sword in his hand, absorbing each inch of the blade with his gaze. He notices the way Changkyun’s posture has changed, he’s not slumped with fear anymore. His shoulders are square, displaying their full reach, and his back straight, jaw tight, and every elements of him beams ‘textbook prince’. 

“I see.” 

He takes a step forward, and Changkyun feels a piece of himself melt, and his throat squeeze when the silk slides over his leg, a slit opening. The gown is pinned on one side, fastened by a silk belt of wine red, and the extra material sways over the side of the slit, spilling over the leg. Changkyun catches a glimpse of a darker skin, inks of black and red, but the silk falls over it, back into place, with another step. The mist rises high, almost to the hips, and it slithers under the cut of the material, and hugs close, shielding the skin away from Changkyun’s view. 

His eyes flicker up to the man, and another wave of chills roll over his body, but Changkyun hisses in a breath, lowering his arm, and sliding his right foot further back, a pose ready for war. A faint smile still plays on the man’s lips, but it doesn’t really reach the eyes.

The man steps forward, eyes now level with Changkyun, and the smirk tips the corners of his lips higher, eyebrows now furrowing together. The gown slides to the sides again, this time the cut goes all the way up, past the hip, and under the belt, where the gown is fastened. Changkyun can’t get enough of the crimson silk and the way the light catches it, the way it makes the man look like he’s been dipped in blood. And he almost dismisses from his mind the adornment of black and red roses hugging the man’s thigh, and the long delicate sword nestled in the middle, the tip reaching the knee.

Changkyun’s eyes go wide, but before any words can escape him, the man whispers a name, hovering his hand over his thigh, the red sleeve rippling with movement. And black mist forms, spreads from the ink of the flowers, and curls and breathes out into the air, writhing around the man's fingers. The metal of the hilt glints and shines underneath his hand, forms from thin air, with the rest of the sword following. The guard of the sword swirls an intricate pattern around the base of the blade; thin, intertwining steel hugs the sword, twists over the guard and wraps around the hand on the hilt. It’s beautiful as it glistens even in the dimmed light.

He’s already made his way halfway across the hall, nearing closer to Changkyun, and it’s then that he notices the faint details in the silk. Small intricate designs decorating each seam, and they lead Changkyun’s eyes over the dainty shoulders, and pick up the details of moles speckled over the chest. His eyes shoot back up when notices the sword moving closer to him, a swift move aiming directly for the middle of his blade, and his other hand shoots up to the hilt, holding off his own sword from slicing at his chest. Changkyun’s brain can’t catch up to him, confused at the speed with which he moved. The man is closer now, leaning the weight of himself into Changkyun, and he can see all the details in the man’s face. The delicate stone-white skin, and the abundance of brown. Brown moles, brown eyes, honey-toned and dark, and brown hair, framing the face like a curtain. 

“Kihyun,” Kihyun? His voice startles Changkyun, and he lets the weight fall on him more, sword at his collarbone, before pushing his weight forward, cutting the sword through the air, the piercing sound of steel on steel echoing against the stones. The man had already stepped back and only the black of the mist is left hovering in place, leaving a trail to the end of his gown. 

“You said you don’t know who I am,” his pose changes. One leg slides back, revealing the skin on his right hand side and an air of royalty writes itself in his high shoulders. “It’s Kihyun.” He comes at Changkyun, the black cloud disintegrating into the air with each quick move, and rebuilding itself from beneath Kihyun’s feet. 

Kihyun? Changkyun finds it hard to think as he parrys off another attack, steel ringing filling his ears. He’s wide-eyed as Kihyun attempts a slash at Changkyun’s thighs, the quick block of his sword causing Kihyun’s sword to bounce off, and there’s little hesitation before it’s coming at his neck again. Changkyun can only really see the shine of the blade, the glistening of the edge, and manages to intercept, attempting to push the blade back into Kihyun, but he retreats, and Changkyun slashes into the air again.

Changkyun’s brain is going haywire. It’s firing all the questions again, and he notices how short of breath he is. Despite the amount of training he has had in combat, the cloudiness of his thoughts obscures his judgement and causes him to lose complete focus in the duel. He loses sight of the blade, loses sight of possible moves, and can only focus on red. Wine-toned shadows among crimson red. It has him completely enchanted, and the pretty smile dressed in the red isn’t much better, dripping in lust and bitterness. Something so incredibly cold about Kihyun tightens Changkyun’s throat, but he shakes the thought. He’s already gone and lost himself much too many times, so he centers his thoughts back to the goal. To the soul that he needs to collect. It’s not like there’s any other life, if Kihyun could even be classed as that, for Changkyun to strike down and take the essence of for himself. 

To rewind the falls of time.

“Not for much longer, you’re not,” Changkyun hisses, mostly to himself, words of encouragement as he dashes forward at Kihyun, who’s mist of black has reassembled itself, pouring over the tiles. His sword comes up to counter Changkyun’s, an attempted slash at the shoulder, and Kihyun mutates it into a thrust to Changkyun’s chest. Changkyun leaps to the side, the blade skimming his arm but succeeding to land a cut into his already destroyed shoulder armour. His eyes bare daggers into Kihyun, who takes little notice, instantly gliding his sword into Changkyun’s side, cutting through the air. Changkyun notices Kihyun staring back into him, as if he’s searching somewhere inside, and realises his eyes don’t even look at the sword. He’s acting out on instinct, absorbing everything happening through the corners of his eyes. 

Changkyun would be impressed if they were on training grounds, but here, in a life or death situation, he can’t let himself get lost in thought. He needs to focus. Needs to pay attention to the sequence of moves Kihyun does and attempt to predict them before they even happen. 

He parrys Kihyun’s attack, the hilt high, mere inches away from Kihyun’s jaw, and he notices the other’s eyes grow slightly soft, but only for a split second. Changkyun manages to step backwards, noticing Kihyun already withdrawing his sword and attempting a thrust directly into Changkun’s chest. Their blades clash when Changkyun puts up a guard, and steel glides along steel, a screech filling their ears as Changkyun drives his sword along the edge of Kihyun’s and aims for a slash at his arm. But Kihyun is fast and swift, and Changkyun is left with his sword cutting through black mist and Kihyun already a meter or so out to the side. He notices Kihyun needing to fix his grip on the hilt, and in that short opening, Changkyun is quick on his feet. 

He clashes his sword against Kihyun’s on one side, a quick response from him, but Changkyun immediately cuts from the other side and Kihyun parries it. They go back and forth in this, move around the hall, amongst the rubble, like a dance of swords, their steps filling each other’s moves, and it’s accompanied by the sharp clanging of steel. At one point Changkyun manages to land a blow onto Kihyun’s leg at the open slit, and the cut trickles red blood down the calf, and a sense of victory fires Changkyun up. Yet Kihyun takes little notice of it, he’s right back into slashing at Changkyuns’ chest. 

It continues again, their skills on par with each other, each one studying the other and attempting to find a fault in their swordsmanship. So when Kihyun missteps from Changkyun’s fake thrust, parrying the wrong side, Changkyun takes his chance to slide his sword against Kihyun’s neck, and that sense of victory once again electrifies something in Changkyun. A smirk plays on his lips this time, and he sees the shock on Kihyun’s face, eyes wide.

“You were good,” Changkyun’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and there’s a mocking tone to his voice, “But not good enough.” He’s about to strike through Kihyun’s neck, the motion already building up in his shoulder, but the look on the others’ face causes a panic in Changkyun. The way Kihyuns’ features grows soft, his eyes grow wide and they’re filled again by honey-toned gold flecks. Changkyun feels like he can sense the fear in them, the way they’re filled to the brim with emotion, and Kihyun’s lips whimper. The red silk almost slips off his shoulders, but it holds in place by a thin layer of sweat that glistens on Kihyun’s skin and Changkyun’s breath catches in his throat. Kihyun looks small and cowering, and it seems like he’s about to beg for his life, beg to spare him and forgive him, but in an instant the softness disappears, and Kihyun huffs a laugh. In that wavering moment of Changkyun second-guessing his move, Kihyun glides to the side, quick and precise and he swipes at Changkyun’s sword. 

There’s little Changkyun can comprehend. He once again got lost, his heart too soft for murder of such a beautiful being, and the image of a defenceless and submissive Kihyun is all that fills his mind. And it maddens him. He’s sick at his easy nature, at the hesitation he seems to not be able to overcome, and his heart squeezes at the thought of his lost Kingdom. He’s brought back to reality by a sharp stinging in his arm and a ringing in his ears.

Kihyun’s attack is savage, it almost gives Changkyun whiplash as he staggers backwards, and is left empty handed. He takes a while to process his sword being whipped out of his hands, the clanging of steel fills the hall as it hits the tiles and bounces off, reflecting light on the surfaces around it. With a swift and smooth motion, Kihyun’s silver sword is under Changkyun’s chin, the tip digging in, threatening to pierce the skin. It knocks the wind out of Changkyun as he falls to his knees, head still high, and his heart races. Before he has a chance to speak Acacius’ name, the black mist writhes itself around the sword hilt, and it becomes lost in the smoke, only glints of shining steel occasionally pierce through the black. And then it’s in Kihyun’s hand. The red of the silk brings out the burgundy tones in the leather hilt, and it accents Kihyun’s image. 

“You fall too easily, Prince Changkyun,” Kihyun balances the sword in his hand, feels its weight, and his eyes scan over the detailed engraving decorating the blade. “I have it now and as long as it’s with me you can’t summon it, can you,” there’s a musical tone to his voice, and it fills Changkyun’s ears the way the humming did. 

The tip of Kihyun’s sword digs further into the underneath of Changkyun’s chin, pressing in harshly on the skin and Changkyun stays frozen. His breathing unstable, he can feel his neck and body start to shake from the tension, his neck extended far above his shoulders, eyes staring back into the amber gold tones of Kihyun’s brown eyes. He’s holding Changkyun’s sword in his other hand, the hilt settling perfectly into his grip, and he prods at Changkyun’s shoulder, digging the tip through the white shirt and into his pale skin. He winces and hisses in a breath, but there’s little he can do. Speaking would be pushing too far on the blades’ edge, and Kihyun has the utmost advantage of the two swords in his possession, leaving Changkyun to be absolutely helpless, defenseless and smitten to Kihyuns’ command. 

Changkyun’s heart is racing out of his chest, pounding against his ribs as his shoulders sink down slightly, the tension falling into his shoulder blades. The sword at his shoulder has caused bright red blood to spill and taint the dirty white of his shirt, and moving only resulted in the tip piercing further into Changkyun’s flesh, coating more of the blade in the crimson colour. Changkyun’s whimper is louder at the pain and agony flashes across his face, only to be met with an amused look in Kihyun’s eyes. They’re wider, and his lips are open, as if he was about to speak. But there’s nothing. Kihyun stares, and slowly the corners of his lips pull upwards, and it stirs something in Changkyun. The cocky attitude of this… something, rises fire in Changkyun’s gut. That constant smirk on his face makes Changkyun wanting to desperately punch it, slice it away, anything to get rid of it. 

With quick thinking, Changkyun stabilizes his body weight on his right hand, and attempts a swipe at the sword at his neck. But Kihyun’s quicker. His balance immaculate, he kicks at Changkyun’s hand before it could even reach past his legs, and Kihyun falls a step closer to Changkyun, black mist spreading over his knees and curling around his wrist.

“Ah ah ah~” Kihyun sing-songs the last note, voice rising in tone as he shakes his head slowly, the smirk still on his lips. He tilts the angle of the sword at Changkyun’s shoulder, and causes pain to shoot through his arm. Kihyun picks up on the way Changkyun’s eyes glaze over, the way he would probably be spilling copious amounts of tears now if the pride within him wasn’t so great. Kihyun tips his head back, and slides the sword at Changkyun’s chin along his jaw, the tip just grazing the skin, but not cutting through. The blade settles nicely at the end of his jaw, right where the neck meets, and the edge of the sword lines perfectly along the rest of Changkyun’s jaw. Kihyun raises the sword, guiding Changkyun’s face to raise even higher, his whole neck on display, slender and long, and Kihyun takes in a long breath.

“You’re too fascinating,” his eyes blink heavily, and without warning, Kihyun pulls out the sword from Changkyun’s shoulder, drops of blood falling to the floor and over Changkyun’s shirt. A strained gasp echoes through the hall, and Changkyun’s jaw tightens at the pain, blood spilling out of the wound.

Kihyun lifts the tip up to his eyes, examines the crimson blood that rolls down the blade and the way slithers of blood split, lines like veins spill on the polished steel. Slowly, he tips the blade to his lips, his tongue coming out to lick at the blood, and instantly his eyes shoot to Changkyun’s, whose face is frozen in horror. The scene in front of Changkyun’s eyes causes his brain to go haywire, completely empty, and his chest hollows out as Kihyun drags the blade across his tongue, hovering for a while longer at the tip. Changkyun can only focus on his tongue, coated in deep red crimson, matching the red of the silk, and only when his eyes fall to Kihyuns’, he sees the way they have darkened. There’s no swirl of amber or honey between the brown, they’re duller now and it sets a cold in Changkyun’s spine, sends a shiver to spill over his skin.

The edge of the blade rests on Kihyun’s lips, and the skin becomes instantly tainted red with whatever Kihyun couldn’t lick clean. That all-too-familiar smile falls on his lips again, and Changkyun’s throat hitches, strained by the sharp steel threatening to slice his neck, and it doesn’t help when Kihyun pulls the sword across his face, gently, a streak of smudged blood on his fair skin, and the tip rests just below his cheekbone. He licks at the corner of his lips, eyes heavy on Changkyun, and tongues at the blood left on his skin.His face nestles into the blade as it presses gently into his skin, and he cocks an eyebrow at Changkyun. Changkyun looking like a mess, blood spilling over his dirty shirt, tears staining the corners of his eyes, and a sharp blade shining white against his jaw.

“I can’t let you go. You just might be the help I need.”

**Author's Note:**

> That's that, hope you enjoyed, hmu on twitter @letlxvhoney if ya wanna!!!  



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